Pippa’s lips part. “I didn’t know that’s why you left.”
“Freddie didn’t mention it?”
She shrugs. “If you recall, he was preoccupied with his prom date.”
I roll my eyes because when was Freddie not preoccupied with his flavor of the week? “Being picked early was a big deal for me and I don’t take it for granted. I’m very thankful for the opportunities it’s afforded me.” And in a backward kind of way, it’s led me to see Pippa again. “But I have to admit that I miss high school. It was easier in a lot of ways. Fewer responsibilities, more fun...”
She tilts her head, looking at me blankly as if she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “Did you go to college?”
“I did, but mostly remotely and in the offseason on campus. It took me five years to finish, but I have a degree in sports medicine.”
She nods as she takes notes.
“A lot of people think football players aren’t very smart, and some are as dumb as a box of rocks—” I use one of my grandfather’s favorite sayings. “But it pays to apply yourself.I learned a lot in college and then afterward, it helped with teamwork, strategy, and the all-important hustle.”
“Thank you for sharing your thoughts on how fun high school was and the intelligence of football players,” she says stiffly.
The center of my brow crinkles with confusion. I shared that because she asked about college and I wanted to demonstrate that I’m not just another dumb jock.
I bring us back to familiar Hinnifin Hall territory. “Remember that time when Mr. Garber stumbled on the bleacher stairs during halftime at the rugby match against the Marlborough Darts? No one moved and you were the only one who offered to help him up,” I say, flinching because I’ve also taken a spill on bleacher stairs when running suicides up and down for sixty minutes straight. “I was stuck in the announcer’s box, witnessing the whole thing.”
Pippa doesn’t say a word. She couldn’t have forgotten about that.
I try again. “You were always so sweet, bringing the kitchen staff Christmas gifts—little stockings embroidered with their names.”
Her response is a blank stare as if she doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
I bite my lip, trying to figure out what’s going on. “Okay, last rugby game of the season. We were ahead, but then Finnigan got injured. You visited him in the infirmary and read him the chapters assigned for English so he didn’t fall behind. How do I know that? I was in there too—had a splinter, but in the following days, I’d visit Nurse Sellers for one thing or another, so I could hear you reading.” I just played my ace card. Well, one of them.
Pippa draws a stilted breath. Her gaze focuses just past my head as though trying to steel herself from responding, reacting, or showing any emotion.
I sigh and toss my hands in the air. “Are you pretending you don’t remember?”
“We should focus on your time at this school, not high school.”
Perhaps senior year wasn’t one long party for her as it had been for me. Granted, I was sent to Hinnifin under duress, but it turned out to be pretty fun. If the Pippa stories in the alumni group she mentioned are any indication, maybe she can’t say the same.
“Okay, tell me about this reform school, academy, etiquette, lesson thing,” I say, getting back in the driver’s seat of the conversation. “Oh, wait, I missed one. Charm school.”
“That is slightly different from what we offer here.”
“Good, because I was going to ask, aren’t I charming already?” If chatting with her like a normal person about our shared past isn’t going to work, I’ll put on my crown and attempt to get her to crack a smile.
Nothing. Not even a flicker of amusement shines in her eyes. Then again, she is wearing glasses, so it’s hard to tell.
“The focus here at Blancbourg Academy d’Etiquette in Concordia is on learning to think of others before yourself.” She gives me a pointed look. Although Pippa refuses to acknowledge our shared history, her eyes hold a shadow from the past. “We help clients learn to be gracious.”
“Like holding open doors and pulling out chairs? Because if so, I’ll take you out to dinner and prove to you that I know my manners.”
With zero response and her chin lifted, she carries on. “As your personal coach, I’m going to guide you through overhauling areas of your life that need refinement. Depending on your unique needs, we’ll do image consulting, public relations, and social skills commonly known as etiquette. This will includedigital etiquette, dining etiquette, modern manners in various environments, and more.”
“Apart from the whole moon-gate thing, I pretty much behave myself.”
“Do you?”
I’ve never witnessed this all-business side of Pippa before. Granted, until the other night, I hadn’t seen her in over a decade, but I can’t help but wonder why she’s gone from hot to cold. Well, she’s still hot, appearance-wise, in her classic way.
I don’t think Pippa realizes how pretty and special she is. It gives her a kind of genuineness I rarely encounter in women.
